


Masquerade

by esteoflorien



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-30 17:27:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1021411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteoflorien/pseuds/esteoflorien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarah O'Brien returns to Downton Abbey for Lady Grantham's Halloween masquerade ball, and Vera Bates takes a rare opportunity to surprise her lover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Return

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PerilouslyClose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerilouslyClose/gifts).



The trip to India had been an unmitigated disaster. At the very least, it would have been, had Sarah had enough self-hatred to stay on more than three weeks. She hadn't thought she'd been too badly off, all things considered, until she gratefully set foot back upon English soil and realized that in a fit of wanderlust (and perhaps a little fear), she'd hastily resigned the very best and most secure position she'd ever held. The weight of it crashed back upon her as she stood outside a seedy little London hotel, contemplating whether she actually dared set foot inside.

A man came bursting through the door, cravat askew and hat in hand. Sarah turned promptly on her heel. If nothing else, she was above giving her money to that kind of establishment, and it was worth suffering the humiliation of having to approach Vera, of all women, for a place to stay.

Vera answered the telephone with a clipped, bored, _good evening_ , and Sarah wondered, not for the first time, how she always managed to sound so nonchalant about the things which were incredibly new to her. Sarah knew perfectly well that Vera had lived exactly six and a half months in a house with a telephone, but truth be told, she envied her that ability to _fit_. Vera always had been a chameleon, after all, blending herself to whatever environment she put herself in. It didn’t surprise Sarah that she carried off residing at Eaton Square with typical aplomb.

To her surprise, Vera was almost sympathetic, and before long, Sarah found herself on the front steps of the residence of Lady Rosamund Painswick, ringing the bell as if she were a proper guest.

"You are," Vera said, dryly, ushering her into the sitting room. "God knows we've no _use_ for you. You must be a guest."

Well. Of course Lady Rosamund had a lady's maid; she'd met the woman, and she was fairly competent. Fairly, but then all one had to be was competent in London, where a maid could send a dress to the couturier and have it returned in less than a fortnight, good as new.

Vera sat her down on one of the chairs in the drawing room, and called for tea.

"You're quite the lady of the manor," Sarah said, after a moment.

Vera laughed. "So I am." It was a statement of fact. She sat herself opposite Sarah, and, cruelly, it crossed Sarah's mind that _this_ Vera could not copy, in this she could _not_ be taken for a real lady: she sat with too much movement, with too great relief; her shoulders rounded forward; her hands rested too heavily on the table. And yet, her expression was remarkable: there was no trace of the working washerwoman in her expression or the bearing of her head. It was good to see her again.

"You're happy, then," Sarah replied. It too was a statement of fact.

"Very, very happy," Vera returned, her face softening with a smile. Good God, had _she_ looked like that around Lady Grantham?

"That's good," Sarah said, and it was. She had never known Vera Bates to be happy, not even when she was Vera Halleran, Sarah's cousin on her mother's side. Vera had been a surly child; perhaps that was why they had always got along. But Vera had been beautiful, with her dark hair and light eyes, though she had the kind of beauty that had ostracized her as a child; it had hardened her. Sarah had practically despised her after she married that idiot of a neighbor's son, and yet she'd still got Bates a place by Lord Grantham's side. Family was family, after all, and Sarah was not blind to the fact that _family_ was primarily the reason why she was presently sat in Lady Rosamund's sitting room sipping tea.

“I heard we have a guest,” came a distinctive voice, and Sarah moved instinctively to stand. Vera covered her hand and held her in place.

“Good evening, my love,” Vera said. “My cousin Sarah has returned to London, and finds herself in need of a place a to stay.”

“She’s no longer in need of a place to stay, Vera darling,” Rosamund replied. “Well, Miss O’Brien, I should think you’d have been sunning yourself by the sea by now. What on earth are you doing back in London in _October_ , of all months?”

Sarah smiled. She always had liked Lady Rosamund; she was forthright, said what she meant, and did away with propriety when it suited her. She possessed a degree of self-respect and devil-may-care indifference that Sarah could only admire.

“It may surprise you, my lady, but I found the weather capricious, and not always to my taste.”

Lady Rosamund burst out laughing. “Not just the weather, I should think. Dear cousin Susan is such a dreadful bore.”

 _Dear cousin Susan_ was far more than a bore, Sarah thought rather uncharitably. She was a perpetually moving nervous frenzy, and had driven Sarah mad within a week. She’d made her escape before they could be further confined together.

Vera stood to hold Lady Rosamund’s chair. “Thank you, my love,” Lady Rosamund said, settling herself at the table. They made quite the striking pair, and Sarah was flooded with envy.

“I’m returning to Downton on Thursday morning,” Lady Rosamund said, watching Vera pour her tea. “If for some strange reason you fancy returning, you could always come with me.”

Vera set the teapot back on the tray. “If you find that you despise it as much as you did before you left, you can always return with her on Friday afternoon.”

Sarah smiled, noncommittally. Of course she _wanted_ to return to Downton; she wanted to return to Lady Grantham as much as she’d desperately needed to get away. Still, an answer of some sort was required. “If I may, my lady, you’re making a rather short visit.”

“Oh, I’ll just be there for the ball,” Rosamund said. “Cora’s planning a masquerade ball for Hallowe’en. The Yankees are coming to visit, and Thursday is a holiday of some kind in which small, costumed children run wild and beg for sweets.”

“I fully support this holiday, Rosamund,” Vera said lightly. “Sarah and I would have ruined Auntie Maureen’s best sheets and turned ourselves into ghosts if it had got us candy.”

Rosamund shook her head. “I suppose. In any event, Cora’s theme is ‘heroes and heroines’ and we’re all to dress for it.”

“Will you be attending as well, Vera?”

“No,” Vera said, and Sarah could detect, from years of practice, that same mournful bit of yearning that had laced her cousin’s tone every time there was a dance in town, and she’d had to beg off to help with the washing. _Perhaps we never get far from where we start_ , Sarah thought, _not really_.

“Rosamund thinks it best if I stay squirreled away in London.”

“From what you’ve told me, I don’t want you within an inch of Bates,” Rosamund said.

“You don’t,” Sarah interjected, to Vera’s dismay. “Whatever she’s told you, he was more wretched. She’s well rid of him. He was a vile little boy and a worse man, at least where Vera was concerned.”

“Vera is what concerns me,” Rosamund said, glancing worriedly at Vera. “Besides, balls are tiresome.” Her tone was placating, practically begging; clearly, they’d had this conversation before.

“I should think I’d be quite bored, my love,” Vera said, and Rosamund smiled in relief.

“What is your costume, my lady?” Sarah asked. Vera quirked a grateful smile in her direction.

“Cleopatra,” Rosamund replied with relish. “Cleopatra, the great queen.”

“You’ll make a fine queen, my lady,” Sarah said, and found that she meant it. Well, she always had thought that, if things were fair, it ought to have been Lady Rosamund running Downton Abbey.

“We’re very pleased with the costume,” Vera said, dragging herself back into the conversation. “You should see it, Sarah. It’s exquisite.”

Talk flowed easily, then, and Sarah learned that Lady Grantham was to be Titania, and the idea of Lady Grantham dressed as the Queen of the Fairies was so utterly delicious that Sarah could hardly concentrate on the remainder of their discussion.

Afterward, Vera took her arm and lead her upstairs – it struck Sarah, as they strode down the hall, that she had never officially slept ‘upstairs’ in her life – and helped her settle into her room.

“You’ll be comfortable here,” Vera said, after a moment. She looked tall and imposing in the golden light of the electric lamps. She was a powerful woman; she’d always been such. That had been Bates’s problem; he’d despised that about her. Lady Rosamund, it seemed, respected and valued her strength, for Vera was more relaxed here than she had ever been. There was an ease and comfortable familiarity between them, and if nothing else, after all she’d been through, Vera deserved that. She was happy for them.

“You want to go to the ball,” Sarah said, as Vera turned to leave.

“Of course I do. Wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t you, especially, knowing she was to be Cleopatra?” Vera sighed. “Wouldn’t you just want to watch her come down that grand staircase? You really must see the dress, Sarah. She’s spectacular.”

“I’m sure she is,” Sarah said. “And why don’t you go? It’s a fancy dress party anyway. Bates shouldn’t even be there, and if he is, well, you won’t be _you_ , anyway. And even if he did notice you, he couldn’t touch you. He’s downstairs, and you’re not.”

“I know Rosamund would prefer I not attend,” Vera said, in the tone of voice that had always meant, _I understand that Mother thinks this is a bad idea, but as I can’t see the harm in it, let’s go._

She sat down on the bed. “If I had a costume, Sarah, I’d go.”

Sarah laughed. “I might be of no use to you,” she said, “but I can sew. Shall we call it board?”

“Room and,” Vera said, and squeezed her hand, and it was almost – _almost_ – as if twenty years and whole lifetimes hadn’t passed, and they were sat in Sarah’s little bedroom, huddled together against the cold.

“After all,” Sarah said, eyeing Vera critically, “every Cleopatra deserves her Antony.”


	2. Chapter 2

Vera stood upon the embroidered ottoman, her skirt hiked up around her waist as Sarah fit the breeches to her leg. She looked positively ridiculous, and stood glowering at her reflection until Sarah turned her round to see to the back.

“Antony doesn’t appear to be wearing trousers in that illustration,” Vera said skeptically.

“Antony was dressed for Egypt, not for late October in Yorkshire,” Sarah retorted. “Besides, if I can’t put you in skirts above your knee, for heaven’s sake, you certainly can’t wear _that_.” Truth be told, she had no idea how to recreate the Roman general’s uniform, but she knew perfectly well that Vera would need trousers of some sort to cover her modesty.  

It didn’t take much for Sarah to turn a pair of trousers into a fair facsimile of the Elizabethan breeches depicted in Lady Rosamund’s illustrated volume of Shakespeare, much to Vera’s apparent surprise. They didn’t look especially Roman, not according to the engraving, but they looked Shakespearean, at least.

“There,” Sarah said, pinning the last of it in place. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s positively indecent,” Vera said with relish, craning her neck to see the mirror and flexing her leg. “I adore it. What about the skirt? Is that what it’s called?”

Sarah shrugged. “Does it matter what it’s called? We’ll have to find some heavy fabric; I’ll have to go shopping unless you’ve got something suitable. If Lady Rosamund has an old riding habit, perhaps?” Vera shook her head, and Sarah sighed. “Very well then. I’ll have to buy some.”

“What about the tunic?”

Sarah considered the illustration. “We could fashion one from a white blouse, if you have. Add some trim around the neck, remove the collar. Go fetch one. I’m sure there’s something suitable in your dresser.”

“I’ll be a moment,” Vera said with a sigh. “I’m certain I have something.”

_Of course you do_ , Sarah muttered under her breath. _Every woman has a plain white blouse_. Vera was, at her heart, much the same as she’d been when they were children. Accustomed to nothing, she held tightly to whatever she had. When they were young, it never occurred to Sarah that they could cut Vera’s doll’s hair; that they could go swimming with Vera’s nightdresses; that they could use Vera’s thread for the mending. She knew her well enough to know that Vera, despite her thirty-eight years and wealthy aristocratic lover, was still hoping that Sarah might offer her own blouse instead, even as she searched reluctantly through her dresser. Lady Rosamund could damn well afford to buy her another blouse, however, Sarah decided, and when Vera mournfully carried in the requisite white blouse, Sarah stamped down the natural instinct that said, _give her yours._

Vera pouted her way through the fitting, though she watched with interest as Sarah snipped away the fabric and hemmed the sleeve to fit. “It will look better once we’ve added the trim.”

“And we’ll hide it behind the cloak, won’t we?”

Sarah sighed. She was really far too generous for her own good. “Yes, we’ll have a cloak.”

Vera looked genuinely pleased. It had been a long time since they’d been together like this – like friends, like family – decades, really. If something good was to come out of her reckless departure from Downton, it might as well be Vera, the way she once was. She bent her head over the hem while Vera dressed.  

“You should come,” Vera said, after several long moments of silence, catching Sarah by surprise.

“Why on earth would I go to a masquerade ball at Downton Abbey? _You’re_ only going because of Lady Rosamund.”

“No, I’m not!” exclaimed Vera indignantly. “I’m going _for_ Rosamund. I attend things in London because of Rosamund. If I was going because of her, I’d be going with her.” There was a bit of hurt laced in her voice; of course it hurt, Sarah realized.

“I’m sorry,” she offered. “At least it must be nice for you, to attend some things with Lady Rosamund, if not all.”

“That surprises you,” Vera said, simply. “Well, of course it does. Rosamund isn’t exactly conventional.”

“How does she introduce you? After all, you’re hardly – “

“As her companion,” Vera said mildly. There was no discontent in her tone. “The answer satisfies them, and I know what Rosamund means when she says _companion_. That’s what matters.” There was pride in Vera’s voice, pride in herself, as always, but in Rosamund, too. Lady Rosamund, it seemed, had not disappointed her.

“You could be Hermia,” Vera said triumphantly, flipping through the volume. “She’s the other one in Lady Grantham’s play. A princess or something.”

“Why on earth would I do that?”

Sarah didn’t have to look at her to know that Vera had narrowed her eyes at her. “Because you want to be in the same play as Lady Grantham?” she asked, falsely innocent, even though it wasn’t really a question.

“I’m no princess.”

“That’s not what I said.”

Sarah redoubled her efforts on the hem, keeping her eyes squarely on the fabric.

“Clearly you came back for _her_ ,” Vera said, picking at threads in her skirt. “God knows you always did go on about her enough. And you certainly didn’t come back for me.”

“I envy you,” Sarah said, without thinking.

Vera sat up sharply. “Envy me? _You_ envy me?” Sarah stole a glance at her. Vera’s face was twisted into an expression of utter fury. “How dare you, Sarah O’Brien. There’s plenty of people to envy. Envying me for six months – _six months!_ – of happiness is not only ridiculous, it’s practically cruel. Did you forget about the other thirty-seven years?”

“You know I didn’t mean that,” Sarah said, soothingly. “I know you know perfectly well that I envy you and Lady Rosamund.” Vera shrunk back against the headboard, mollified. “Well, I don’t envy Lady Rosamund, per se.”

Vera laughed, a little harshly, a little desperately. “I don’t envy her either, most days. But she’s good, Sarah. She’s good in ways that I never thought I’d see. Oh, she’s flighty, and spoiled, and horrifically ignorant about people like us, but she’s _good_ , Sarah. I didn’t ever think someone as good as her could love me. And she knows it all, and she loves me still.”

“Lady Rosamund is the fortunate one,” Sarah said. “You’re worthy of far more than you give yourself credit for, Vera. She’s had everything handed to her. You’ve fought for what you’ve got. There’s no shame in that.” She laughed bitterly, and slid her needle into its case, breaking the thread on the sleeve. “And I fear that Lady Grantham isn’t quite as _good_ as your Lady Rosamund.”

Vera shrugged. “I can’t say that I’ve ever met Lady Grantham,” Vera offered.

“Lady Grantham would never, no matter how much she loved me, ever allow me to accompany her to an event as a friend. And she certainly wouldn’t ever call me her _companion_. Even if I turned up as a princess, Vera, I’d still only ever be her lady’s maid. Lady Grantham has Downton, and Lady Rosamund does not. It’s as simple as that.”

She’d begun packing up her things when Vera spoke again. She’d known, of course, that Vera wouldn’t just let the subject drop. Vera liked to _win_ , always, and she wouldn’t surrender without a good fight.

“You don’t know that unless you give her the opportunity,” Vera said.

“I can’t simply approach Lady Grantham and declare my undying love,” Sarah retorted.

“I knew it!” Vera exclaimed.

Sarah shook her head. “Of course you did. That’s why we were having this conversation, was it not?”

“I suspected,” Vera said with glee in her voice. “Now I _know_. You should try. After all, Lady Rosamund didn’t exactly come to find me, you know. I had to woo her.”

Sarah bit her lip at the thought of Vera wooing anyone – although the image was less difficult to picture than it might have been, having now seen her in Shakespearean breeches with her hair pinned up. But as much as she knew she’d enjoy the tale of Vera’s pursuit of Lady Rosamund, it was the very last thing she wanted to hear, not while she had Vera’s costume to make so _she_ could attend Cora’s party.

“As I said, Vera, Lady Grantham is different from Lady Rosamund, and I am not you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to sew if you’re to have anything to wear on Thursday.”

Vera’s tart reply reached her just as she pulled the door shut. “You haven’t won yet, Sarah!” she practically shouted, and it was exactly what Sarah expected – and perhaps wanted – her to say.


	3. Chapter 3

Wednesday morning, the day of Lady Rosamund’s departure, dawned bright and crisp. Sarah had stayed in bed until she thought the lady of the house had most likely left, watching the sunlight trickle through her window until it cast a golden glow about the coverlet. It seemed right to allow Lady Rosamund and Vera some time alone, and it wasn’t often that she was able to lie in bed after days of sewing. After spending hours sewing through fabric that was really too thick to be hemmed by hand, she rather thought she deserved it.

She dressed herself and went in search of sustenance, only to happen upon Vera and Rosamund saying their farewells in the foyer. She slipped back into the shadows, pressing back against the wall. At Downton Abbey, she hadn’t had the least compunction about eavesdropping but there was something different about it now.  Perhaps it was that she was a guest in Lady Rosamund’s townhouse; perhaps it was that it was Vera. But she’d felt far more affection for Lady Grantham than she’d ever –not since childhood and or until very recently, at least – felt for Vera, and yet she’d still done her best to seek out the lady’s secrets until it had almost become something of a game. There was something incredibly intimate in the way that Vera cupped Rosamund’s cheek, in the way Rosamund’s hand rested on the crook of Vera’s elbow, in the way they stood together, just barely touching, and Sarah almost –  _almost_  – looked away.

“I’ll be counting the hours until I come home,” Lady Rosamund was saying.  _Good God_ , Sarah thought, but there was such a genuine earnestness to the lady that Sarah couldn’t help but believe her.

“I’ll be waiting, my love,” Vera returned, her voice thick. She rubbed her thumb over Lady Rosamund’s cheek. “Be careful.”

“I shall, darling,” Lady Rosamund said, stepping closer. She was dressed in a long coat with a fur collar with a small hat set jauntily over her eye. Vera tucked an errant strand of hair back beneath the band, then drew her into her arms. They embraced for a long moment, and Vera let her go with a kiss to her hand. There must have been more kisses, Sarah determined, but it hardly mattered. She was practically shaking with envy, and it was a terrible thing, to so envy Vera’s happiness. Vera had been right, of course; who was she, who had enjoyed a long and comfortable career within the stability of the walls of Downton Abbey, to begrudge Vera her bit of happiness? And yet Vera’s happiness was everything she had ever wanted, and she couldn’t help her jealousy.

“You can’t know how much I hate watching her leave,” Vera said loudly, apropos of nothing. Her voice echoed in the empty foyer. “Oh, come out, Sarah. Honestly.”

Sarah stepped sheepishly into the light. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” she said. “I stayed in bed until I thought she’d gone.”

Vera laughed, in the harsh way she always had when she didn’t believe Sarah to be telling the truth. “As you like,” she said, finally. “I have a surprise for you. Do you want to see it?”

The only thing Sarah wanted to see in that moment was a teacup filled with a steaming hot Assam, but as Vera’s guest, she hardly had that luxury. “I don’t know whether I should be excited or wary, but I should very much like to see it.”

Vera dragged her excited upstairs to her sitting room; how odd, to be sat in this room not as a maid, but as a guest.

“Now, obviously you’ll make it your own,” Vera said. “But look, Sarah! It’s perfect.”

She brandished a tattered-looking old dress with vigor. It was made from what appeared to be black taffeta, with panels of deep purple silk fluttering about the skirt. It looked something like a dancing dress, for all that she couldn’t picture Lady Roasmund wearing it. She peered closer at the stitching.

“Did you  _make_  this, Vera?” she asked, incredulously.

Vera smiled smugly. “I knew you’d love it.”

Sarah inspected the seamwork; she’d have to rip half of it out. Sewing had never been among Vera’s talents.

“What  _is_  it, exactly?”

Vera’s smile faltered. “ _It_ is a costume, and  _you_  are a witch.”

“So I’ve been told,” Sarah said, flipping it over to examine what Vera had done to the back.

“It was one of mine,” Vera said, “so you’ll have to adjust it. You can tailor your own clothes, can’t you?”

Sarah didn’t even bother to give her the courtesy of a reply.  _Could she tailor her own clothes, indeed!_

What Vera lacked in imagination and craftsmanship she certainly possessed in enthusiasm, for she soldiered on, explaining the utter brilliance of her choice. Not only was dressing Sarah as a witch so close to the truth that none would suspect, there were no witches in  _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_. It might as well be obvious if she turned up as a character from Lady Grantham’s play, anyway or so Vera had decided. (Sarah bit her lip and forbore giving Vera the same advice, for in her breeches and her red cape, she made a positively magnificent Antony.)

“And before every spell they say ‘double double toil and trouble,’ so you must as well,” Vera was saying. Sarah was oddly touched; it had a been a good long while since someone had gone to such bother for her, and it was quite nice to be thought of in such a way, even if Vera’s tailoring skills left much to be desired. Still, the idea had potential, should she decide to attend the ball.

“I still don’t see how we’re to attend the ball,” Sarah said, after a moment. “Supposing I go, that is.”

“We’ll say that we are guests of Lady Rosamund,” Vera said confidently, “which we are. We’ll arrive for the dancing after the dinner, and if we time it right, we’ll arrive once the party is well underway.”

Sarah thought for a moment. It was true that, in the midst of a ball, and a costumed one at that, no one would notice the arrival of two additional costumed guests, and Carson would never ask Lady Rosamund if she had been expecting guests. It was, she realized, a surprisingly achievable plan.

“We’ll tease your hair out,” Vera continued. “Use the curlers and make it all wild.”

“If it’s a masque,” Sarah said, “we’ll have to borrow the masques from Lady Rosamund. She has a number of them in a hatbox in the closet.”

“So you’ll come, Sarah?” Vera said, a smile flitting about her mouth.

“Yes,” Sarah said, with far less resignation that she imagined she would feel. “But I make no promises about Lady Grantham.”

Vera leant further into her seat, hunching over as she used to do; it was as if a little bit of the old Vera escaped in these moments. Sarah wondered if Lady Rosamund got to see them, too; she found that she hoped she did.

“I told you I didn’t wait for Rosamund to find me,” Vera said, after a long moment. “If I’d waited for her, I’d be waiting still. I’m not a fool, Sarah. I saw Rosamund at Downton Abbey, that day when I went to see Bates. And she was beautiful, like no one I’d ever seen before. And she spoke to me. I was leaving, walking down the drive by the gardens, and she wished me good day. Can you even imagine?”

Sarah smiled. She couldn’t, not really.  _Dear O’Brien_  wasn’t exactly the endearment she wanted it to be, after all, even if Lady Grantham had said it where many mistresses would not.

 “And I knew I’d fix it to see her again. I had to. So I went to London, and met her on the street one afternoon.”

“What on earth did you say?” Sarah asked, although she wasn’t especially surprised by Vera’s temerity.

Vera smiled. “That I wanted to thank her for wishing me well, that day at Downton Abbey, that seeing her had been a spot of light in otherwise dark days. And she smiled, and remembered me. And she invited me to tea.”

_Lady Rosamund had always liked flattery_ , Sarah thought, but it sounded a bit hollow. She’d seen the way Lady Rosamund had leant into Vera’s hand. She was happy, too, just as happy as Vera was.

“And after a while, one teatime afternoon led to another. I was making a go of it doing the bookkeeping for – don’t look at me like that, Sarah O’Brien, I ran a house for twelve years before Bates ran off to war, I know how to keep books! – a pair of older ladies who take in sewing. They don’t pay much, but I had a room to myself above their shop, in the apartments. And so, one day, I asked Rosamund to tea, to return the favor.”

Sarah could feel her eyes widen at the thought of Lady Rosamund sat to tea in Vera’s bedroom above a seamstress’s shop.

“She managed quite well,” Vera said, and Sarah realized she’d been quiet for far too long. “Her clothes were entirely out of place; she took off her coat and tossed it over a chair and said, ‘There!’ as if that had done it. I loved her so much, right then. And we had a lovely, lovely time. I walked most of her way home with her, and, not too far from Eaton Square, I told her I’d fallen in love.”

“Just like that?”

“Well, not exactly. I told her the truth, that I wasn’t like other women, that I have loved women and men alike. And when she didn’t mind that,  _then_  I told her.”

“What did she say?” The eager excitement in her voice bothered her. She sounded as if she was a few pence short of a paperback novel.

“She thanked me for my honesty, shook my hand, and went on her way.”

“You must have been disappointed.”

“I’ve been disappointed for longer than I can possibly remember,” Vera said, the old edge returning to her voice. “It was not an unusual feeling. And it didn’t matter, anyway. Rosamund turned up at teatime the next day, all silk and finery and nonsense. I don’t think Ernestine and Gloria knew quite what to make of her! And we had tea, and talked, and that was that. And then I moved to Eaton Square.”

Some things, it seemed, were too personal for Sarah’s ears. She liked that about them; she liked that Vera and Lady Rosamund had shared moments that were too precious to recount.

“So there’s hope,” Vera finished. “I’m not saying Lady Grantham will be as amenable as Rosamund. I would not expect her to be. But sometimes, I find, you have to make your own chance at happiness.” She laughed. “Listen to me! There are moments where I’ve said, ‘I hardly recognize myself,’ and Rosamund laughs and laughs.”

She glanced at the clock. “Speaking of those moments, I have to go speak to the cook if we’re to eat tonight, Sarah,” she said. “Come with me, and I’ll meet you in the drawing room.”

Sarah gathered up the witch’s gown and dutifully followed Vera down the staircase, turning into the drawing room as Vera continued her way down.

“Vera!” Sarah called after her, surprising herself.

Vera turned. “Yes, cousin?”

“You said they  _don’t_  pay well. Are you still working for them?”

Vera looked at her oddly. “Of course I am. Why on earth would I not? They need a bookkeeper, and  _I_  need a job.”

Sarah smiled at her receding back, watching as she made her way down the hallway. She couldn’t say that she had ever respected her cousin especially much, but today, she did.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’ll be a one-shot detailing Vera and Rosamund’s romance, I promise. Because we all love a good OOC love story, don’t we? It'll explain some of my headcanon for Vera, which I've found is a bit different from most.


	4. Chapter 4

Sarah couldn’t help the sharp intake of breath when she saw Downton Abbey rising like something out of a novel as they drove nearer to it and the spires of the towers emerged from the fog. She’d grown accustomed to it, living there for so long. The past few weeks had been nothing if not a reeducation. Even if her room hadn’t had even a tenth the luxury of Lady Grantham’s, it had still been a comfortable, furnished space of her own, and, spending as much time upstairs as she did gave one the tendency to forget about the ways in which other people live. People like Vera, Sarah realized, watching the look of awe dawn over Vera’s uncharacteristically expressive face. There was luxury at Eaton Square, of course; but the cosmopolitan, urban beauty of Lady Rosamund’s townhouse couldn’t possibly compare to the imposing opulence of Downton Abbey.

Vera settled back in her seat. “I think I prefer Eaton Square,” she said, with finality.

Sarah stole a glance at her; she meant it, clearly.

“We’ll have fun,” Vera went on, “but I’ll be glad to be back in London tomorrow. I don’t belong here. You might, but I don’t.”

“I don’t belong here like you belong in London.”

“You might,” Vera said. “And you might not. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

The remark was characteristically Vera, and just as it always had been, she likely had no idea that it had been hurtful. And there was no sense in pointing that out, because Vera would simply reply that she was correct – and she was. The prospect of rejection was the worst part of returning to Downton. Of course Lady Grantham had found herself a new lady’s maid. She’d had plenty of time, after all. And so it remained that she might belong there or she might not, but even if she did, there was no certainty that she might stay. She twisted her hands in her purple skirt.

“You’re a convincing witch,” Vera had said with amusement when she’d finally gotten dressed. The dress fit her well enough after the alterations. The long skirt skimmed her ankles, and she had done a better job of fitting in the panels of silk amongst the taffeta. They had sacrificed one of Rosamund’s older scarves to the cause, wrapping it round Sarah’s hat in an attempt to disguise her face. The black masque helped, of course; it covered her eyes at the very least, but as she pointed out to Vera, she’d lived at Downton for the better part of two decades. They would recognize her. And so, she had become a veiled witch. In a fit of inspiration, Sarah had hooked fabric around her index finger, so that whenever she gestured, purple silk fluttered about her. The effect was rather successful, especially when she lowered her voice to a crackle and recited  _double double toil and trouble_ , which Vera seemed to think should preface everything she said.  

She made a convincing witch, that was true, but Vera  _was_  Antony, and even Vera admitted that Sarah had done a spectacular job with her costume. The breeches fitted her perfectly, and tucked neatly into low-heeled boots, which – while not exactly historically accurate – were at the very least dramatic, and gave her a bit of height. The skirt was a reasonable replica of the illustration, and the heaviness of the fabric meant that it made a rather distinctive sound every time Vera moved and it bounced against her legs. The white tunic contrasted nicely with the vibrant red of her cloak, but the most effective part was her hair. Sarah had used the curler to plaster waves against Vera’s head, and tucked her long hair into a low chignon. She’d set sprigs of laurel in the curls like a champion’s wreath. Without her masque and makeup, Vera had looked imposing; with her face partially covered, her eyes lined with kohl, and her lips a vibrant red, she was striking. She couldn’t possibly be mistaken for a man, but nor was she a tart. She looked powerful, and they’d be looking at her, Sarah knew, just as soon as she stepped foot onto the floor. And Lady Rosamund would know.

Vera had been babbling for hours about how long it would take Rosamund to recognize her – a story of which several incarnations had Rosamund remaining entirely in the dark until Vera snuck into her bedroom in the dark of the night, undressing silently, taking down her hair, and slipping into bed wearing naught but the crown of leaves set into her hair.

It was a lovely story, Sarah thought, but incredibly unlikely. Lady Rosamund would turn to see her, and she would _know_. After all, there was no hiding Vera’s feminine form; there was no way to conceal the piercing blue of her eyes and the darkness of her hair. Lady Rosamund would know, and that would be the most interesting part of the evening.

“Now,” Vera said, her gaze fixed forward as the house began to loom larger. “What are you going to say to Cora?” She’d taken to calling her Cora in private, even though Sarah knew that Vera would dutifully curtsey and greet her as Lady Grantham should they have the pleasure – or perhaps the misfortune – of being introduced.

Sarah sighed. “Good evening, my lady – “ she began, but Vera interrupted her. .

“Double double – “

“Double double, toil and trouble, good evening, my lady – “

“That doesn’t rhyme,” Vera observed. “What rhymes with trouble? Bubble, rubble, stubble…”

“Do stop,” Sarah murmured. She could appreciate that Vera was doing her best to be lighthearted, but she really was taking a simple joke too far.

“Double double, toil and trouble, good evening, my lady, with the beautiful bauble!” Vera announced triumphantly. She paused. “Does ‘bauble’ rhyme well enough?”

“It rhymes well enough for your idiotic greeting,” Sarah said, spitefully. “I’m sorry.”

Vera flicked her cape. Sat in the back of the car, it had little effect. “I’m only trying to make you feel better. Even I know you aren’t thrilled at the prospect of returning.

“I abandoned her, Vera,” Sarah said, finally. “She didn’t need me, perhaps, but we were used to each other. And I left without a word. She won’t want to see me. I’ve been a ridiculous fool.”

The car pulled to a stop before the door, and Jimmy stepped out to open the door.

Vera glanced at her. “Buck up, Sarah. And let me talk.” She made quite picture taking Jimmy’s hand to leave the car, and even Sarah had to laugh at his expression. He seemed almost relieved to extend his hand to her.

“Welcome to Downton Abbey,” he said, still staring at Vera. Sarah stifled the urge to slap him. “This way, my ladies.”

Sarah caught sight of her reflection in the mirror and adjusted her veil. Between the hat, the veil, and the masque, she barely resembled herself. She wondered if the disguise would be good enough to fool anyone else. By the way they passed by Carson without any interference, she decided it was very good indeed.

Chairs had been set around the perimeter of the ballroom, and Vera claimed one that placed her directly in the eyeline of the doorway. She uncrossed her legs and leant forward, her head tilted just so, clearly waiting for Lady Rosamund to enter. Sarah wondered just how long she’d sat before their vanity – how odd, to say ‘their vanity’ – perfecting the pose. The diners came began to trickle in once the music began, drawing some of the later arrivals onto the floor. Sarah had been glad to see some guests arriving after them; at least they were not noticeably late.

She looked up when she heard Vera gasp. Lady Rosamund did indeed look entrancing. There was no other word for it. Her hair was loose, falling down her back in waves, and adorned only with a diadem of pure white. Her dress shimmered in the light, seemingly stitched entirely of glistening glass beads; over the dress, which fit neatly against her form, was a magnificent cloak that trailed behind her like bridal train. She looked every inch the queen, and Vera was utterly captivated.

So, it seemed, was Lady Rosamund, for she stood unmoving in the doorway, her gaze locked with Vera’s. She seemed to regain herself only when the Dowager Countess called her name, glancing up at her through narrowed eyes. Then she began moving towards them, seeming to float on the polished floor, the beads of her dress catching the light and refracting it a thousand different ways.

“Antony,” she said, stopping before Vera. “I would know you anywhere.”

A small smile flickered about Vera’s lips. She stood, took Lady Rosamund’s hand, and bowed. “My queen,” she murmured. “How very lucky I am to have found you.” It seemed as if the entire ballroom had ceased to exist, Sarah realized; how odd that  _she_  felt it too. She’d been enraptured watching them, studying Lady Rosamund’s expression, studying the way they kept their hands linked just a moment longer than was necessary.

“Ah!” came a loud voice, interrupting the moment and practically jolting Sarah out of her seat. She found herself looking up at Lord Grantham. “Rosamund, you seem to have found your Antony! What luck!”

“The greatest luck in the world,” Rosamund replied smoothly. “I suppose my dance card is filled, if Antony himself is here.”

“Indeed!” said Lord Grantham. “Were it not a masked ball, I should ask you to introduce us.”

“That would quite defeat the purpose, would it not, Robert? These are two friends whom I met doing charity work during the war. They’ve made the trip from London especially for the ball.”

“Splendid!” Lord Grantham announced jovially. He certainly seemed friendlier to his sister’s acquaintances, Sarah thought, until she realized that, for all his supposed interest in them, he was looking off to the side at other guests even as he spoke to them.  “Do enjoy the ball, ladies.”

The music began in earnest then, a moderate waltz to encourage dancers to take the floor. Rules seemed to have been relaxed for this ball, as several dancers were already on the floor. No one, it seemed, had any interest in waiting for Lord and Lady Grantham to open the dance.  _All the niceties have gone_ , Sarah thought.

Beside her, Vera made a small bow. “May I have this dance, my queen?” she asked, offering Lady Rosamund her hand.

Lady Rosamund rested her hand in Vera’s and allowed herself to be spun on to the floor. Vera’s steps were hesitant, and she struggled, to Sarah’s eye, to keep Lady Rosamund at a respectable distance, but together they made a striking pair. “Oh, Antony,” Lady Rosamund sighed, after a moment. “How glad I am that you’re here.”

Sarah met Vera’s broad smile with one of her own, and watched them disappear further onto the floor. The guests had arrived in a variety of costumes, one more original than the next. One enterprising young man had fashioned himself a remarkable owl headdress that extended down his back like a cape, all of it covered in feathers. Several young women had dressed as princesses, each wearing a gown that must have taken weeks to sew.

She sat for several long moments watching the dancers until a small commotion by the door caught her attention.

Titania, Queen of the Fairies had entered, and she was utterly resplendent. 


	5. Chapter 5

Lady Grantham’s arrival had captured everyone’s attention, and Sarah was painfully aware that she was but one of many who stood admiring the lady of the house. Lady Grantham merited all of the appreciation she received, of course. She was dressed in a flowing gown of gray silk which was entirely encapsulated by a coat of sheer silver. It clasped in front with pearls, and the front was paneled with clear beads. Two wings, made of the same shimmering sheer silk, fluttered behind her. Her masque matched, and her hair was curled as it was before the war, cascading around her shoulders, and set with diamonds. She looked magnificent.

Sarah was grateful for her black veil, for it meant that it hid her adoring expression from the rest of the guests, and reproached herself for the times she’d recently bemoaned Lady Rosamund’s obvious besotting with Vera.

Lord Grantham, who seemed to have made a half-hearted effort at Titania’s husband – Sarah would have preferred to have seen him dressed as an ass, all things considered; she’d allowed herself to hope for it just a tiny bit when Vera had mentioned what happened in the play – immediately approached her for a dance, and they took to the floor, the dancers separating as if choreographed to allow them through. Sarah had spent many a servants’ ball watching the pair of them: for one thing, she did _not_ dance; for another, the servants’ ball offered an extraordinary opportunity to simply savor the sight of Lady Grantham in her element, something Sarah didn’t often see. She would dress her for dinners and undress her afterwards, but she’d never actually seen Lady Grantham host a party, save for the servants’ ball.

She danced with several men in turn, whom Sarah supposed to be Lady Mary’s new beau and Tom Branson, before a last turn about the floor with her husband. Lord Grantham settled her in one of the chairs beside Lady Grantham and Mrs. Crawley, before taking his leave to join the men sharing a drink and a smoke off to the side, watching the young people dance.

Sarah glanced at the floor. Lady Rosamund and Vera were still dancing together, at a slightly less respectable distance now, entirely lost in each other until someone periodically interrupted them. It appeared that Vera was garnering more attention than Lady Rosamund, much to the latter’s amusement. It was as if each of the men on the floor had made it his goal to guess her identity. They would dutifully part before coming back together, giggling like a pair of debutantes all the while. Once again, she envied them.

After a while, it seemed that the Dowager Countess of Grantham and Mrs. Crawley had returned to their discussion, leaving Lady Grantham to her own devices. Sarah sighed. As Vera and Lady Rosamund showed no signs of leaving the floor, it became apparent that if she had any interest in speaking with Lady Grantham as something of an equal, she’d have to do it without the benefit of Lady Rosamund’s introduction. Carefully, she made her way around the room, her purple silk sleeves and skirt fluttering about her.

She made a small curtsey before approaching Lady Grantham; she had no idea of the etiquette, as she was, ostensibly, an invited guest.

“Good evening, my lady,” she said, remembering at the last minute to do something about her accent. She aimed for something of London, but what came out sounded, at least to her own ears, like a country girl who was trying just a bit too hard. She supposed that wasn’t too far from the truth.

“Good evening,” said Lady Grantham politely. “I do hope you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Yes of course, my lady,” Sarah replied quickly. “I wished to thank you for the generous invitation.”

“Don’t think anything of it,” Lady Grantham replied, “I’m ever so glad you were able to attend.” It sounded genuine even though they both knew she had absolutely no idea to whom she was speaking. Sarah wondered who she imagined her to be: was there any small chance that Lady Grantham wished, in her heart of hearts, that the veiled witch before her was her former lady’s maid? Sarah rather imagined not.

“Please, sit,” Lady Grantham said, when it became apparent that Sarah was obviously not going anywhere.

“Thank you,” she said. It was lovely, to be with her like this, even if she knew she was being something of a bothersome hanger-on.

“Do you read fortunes, Madam Witch?” Lady Grantham asked, after a moment. There was a bit of amusement in her voice, of course, but something else that Sarah couldn’t readily identify.

Sarah laughed. “I suppose I could give it a go,” she said.

Lady Grantham looked expectantly at her, so Sarah cleared her throat and made a show of reaching for Lady Grantham’s palm, letting the purple silk flutter this way and that.

She studied her palm, remembering what the gypsy lady had taught her one afternoon when she and Vera had snuck off school and gone to the fair. She looked first for the lifeline, then for the mound of Venus, and she must have appeared dead serious about it, because Lady Grantham’s smile slowly faded away.

“You look as if you’ve done this before,” Lady Grantham observed.

“Oh no, my lady. I learned from a gypsy lady when I was a girl,” she replied, forgetting that a lady who would receive an invitation to a masquerade at Downton Abbey would most certainly not have attended gypsy fairs in her childhood.

“I see,” Lady Grantham returned, and went silent.

“I see a long life,” Sarah said, after a moment. “Look, this is your lifeline.”

“That’s nice,” said Lady Grantham. “Although difficult, when one has lost a child.”

“I can imagine,” Sarah said absently. “Although I really can’t, because I don’t have any children. I’m sorry,” she finished, with finality.

Lady Grantham smiled sadly at her. “Thank you,” she said, and Sarah had the impression that she really, truly meant it.

“You’ll be happy in love,” Sarah mumbled. That _was_ what her palm showed, at any rate. She ignored the bit about how the fullness of the mound of Venus indicated her lady’s passionate nature. There were some things one could discuss at a ball at Downton Abbey, and others which were best left to the fortune-teller’s caravan.

“And how am I today?” Lady Grantham asked.

Sarah looked up at her. “Oh, I don’t – that is, I really don’t know what I’m saying, my lady – “

“Please,” the lady said. “I’d like you to try.”

Sarah absently stroked her wrist with her thumb, but Lady Grantham seemed to pay her no mind. Perhaps she thought it was part of the reading. What on earth could she say to this woman? It occurred to her that this was a wonderful opportunity to speak the truth, after so many years: to speak truth without fear of retribution. It was selfish, to want to ease her own burden while adding to Lady Grantham’s own. And yet she couldn’t help herself.

“I think a long life is further intolerable,” she said, after a moment, “because you have lost two children, not just one.”

“That’s correct,” Lady Grantham said, her voice catching.

“And both were taken from you: one in the giving of life, the other by a cruel accident.”

“Why are you telling me things I already know?” Lady Grantham asked, in a tone laced with fury.

“Because I don’t think the loss of your little boy was entirely accidental,” Sarah said. “I think that perhaps, whatever happened that day, might have been the unintended consequence of someone else’s actions.” She made a show of studying Lady Grantham’s palm. “What I’m saying is that it wasn’t your fault. It might have been someone else’s just as much as it could be no one’s at all, but it wasn’t your fault.”

“Thank you,” Lady Grantham sighed. Her face bore an expression Sarah had seen upon many a face entering the fortune-teller’s caravan: that of a woman who wanted desperately to be told the things she wanted to hear, even though she wouldn’t believe in what she was told.

“For what it’s worth, I think that whoever might have been inadvertently responsible, that day, I think that she would be remorseful beyond measure, my lady.”

“Because you see it written on my palm?”

Sarah laughed. “Because I’m a woman.”

“You’re quite good at this,” Lady Grantham said. “Tell me something else – something happier? Please.”

Sarah returned her attention to Lady Grantham’s palm, attempting to scry something else in the lines of her hand.

“I think you suffered a recent disappointment,” she said, after a few minutes. _In for a penny, in for a pound_.

“I have.”

“And I think that disappointment was perhaps inadvertent as well. Maybe it was a misunderstanding? I think you ought to seek out whoever it was, and have it out with her. Him. Whoever. The answer might surprise you.”

“I’ll consider it,” Lady Grantham said, with amusement. “And my future?”

Sarah smiled, and patted her hand. “You’ll be happy, my lady. Of that I’m certain."

“What line tells you that?”

“None, really,” Sarah said, forcing herself to laugh. “I really don’t know what I’m doing, you know. But you strike me as the kind of woman who finds a way to make her own happiness. You’ll be happy.”

She felt lighter, somehow, for having told Lady Grantham her secret. She glanced to the floor, searching for Lady Rosamund and Vera, who seemed to have disappeared.

“Are you looking for someone?” Lady Grantham inquired.

“Ah, yes, my friend – we came from London, you understand – she seems to have disappeared.”

“That does tend to happen,” Lady Grantham replied. “Do stay the night.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly,” Sarah murmured. “I’ve taken a room – that is, my friend and I – and we’re leaving early tomorrow.”

“So is Lady Rosamund,” Lady Grantham observed. “You’ll make your train.”

“Thank you,” Sarah replied. She couldn’t very well decline Lady Grantham’s kind invitation, and she knew the house well enough to know how to escape without being seen. She had managed it once before, after all.

The dancing ended and Lady Grantham took her leave not long after, and Jimmy materialized from out of nowhere to lead the late arrivals to the guest rooms. How strange, to be a guest in a house in which she had served. The bedroom was beautiful; the bed large and made up with sheets as soft as Lady Rosamund’s. Sarah undressed with relief, peeling off the masque and the layers of taffeta and silk.

Vera’s traveling bag lay beside her own. _Bloody hell_ , she thought. _She’d have to sneak it to her_. She glanced at the clock. At this hour, too many servants were still out and about. She’d either have to do it in the morning, or let Vera fend for herself. With the way her cousin had abandoned her that evening she had a half a mind to choose the latter.

She was just settled in bed when she heard a quiet knock at her door.

“Come in,” she said, tiredly. “Vera, really – “ she began, before she realized that the woman standing before her was Lady Grantham, and not her cousin at all.

“My lady!” she gasped, sitting straight up in bed.

“I thought it was you,” Lady Grantham said, worrying the rings on her left hand with the fingers of her right. “I wasn’t certain, but I did guess.”

She looked nothing like Titania now, not with her hair down and braided, the makeup gone and a simple white dressing gown draped over a plain nightdress, and yet she was the most beautiful woman Sarah had ever seen.

She clambered to belatedly get out of bed, realizing she’d been staring for far too long, but Lady Grantham raised her hand.

“Please, stay. It’s I who am imposing on you. You are a guest, after all.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so very sorry, for everything.”

Lady Grantham looked at the edge of the bed. “May I?” she asked, as if it wasn’t her house at all.

“Please,” Sarah replied, making room for her.

“I don’t think you meant to cause my miscarriage,” Lady Grantham said. “I think you were lazy and I know you were spiteful over something, but I know you well enough to know you would not have knowingly caused me to miscarry my child.”

Tears flooded Sarah’s eyes. “I didn’t,” she whispered. “I had no idea, I didn’t think.”

“What happened, that day?” Lady Grantham asked, her eyes wide and glistening with tears. “Please just tell me. I’ve needed to know for a very long while, but since Sybil – I – I need to know, Sarah.”

_So she was Sarah when she was not in her servant’s dress._

“You dropped a bar of soap,” Sarah replied, almost mechanically. “I was angry because you were looking for lady’s maids, and were asking me questions about how long they take to train. I thought you meant you were looking to replace me, not that Lady Grantham needed a new lady’s maid. I learned that at the garden party some weeks later.”

Lady Grantham nodded. There was no hatred in her expression, only curiosity and an overwhelming sadness.

“You dropped the soap and it broke in two. I picked up half and handed it to you, and kicked the other half away. I don’t know where it went. I don’t know if it ended up to the side of the tub, where you would have stepped, or underneath. The fact is that I _do not know_. And I was angry, I wanted to inconvenience you. If you slipped, I thought you’d twist your ankle. If not, I’d have wasted the soap. But I did not mean for you to miscarry,” she said, her voice gone to a whisper. “Please, you must believe me. I was horrified, I had no idea, I don’t know, I still don’t.”

She sounded delirious to her own ears. Lady Grantham reached out to clasp her hand.

“I don’t know what I slipped on,” she said, “if that makes it easier for you. I don’t know. Perhaps I would have slipped anyway.”

“I’m so very sorry,” Sarah said. “I know it is unforgivable, but I’m so sorry.”

“I forgive you,” Lady Grantham said. “I don’t think I would have said it then, of course. But we’ve lived through a great deal in the years since, you and I. I forgive you, Sarah.”

Sarah savored the words like the heavenly benediction she felt them to be. “Thank you,” she said, her voice thick with her tears. “I left because I was afraid you would find out.”

“Well, even I knew the last place you’d willingly go would be on a ship with Susan Flintshire,” Lady Grantham said. “Give me that much credit, at least. I thought perhaps it was something like that, something that made you feel as if you could no longer stay.”

“There’s something else,” Sarah found herself saying. “Something else I was afraid to tell you.”

“Oh?” Lady Grantham said, genuinely curious. She dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. “Will you tell me now? So there are no more secrets?”

Sarah thought back to Vera’s story. What was she had told Lady Rosamund? _I have loved women and men alike_. But that wasn’t true for her, now was it?

“I’m different,” she said, finally, “different from most other women, my lady, because I don’t love men. I love women in that way, and it’s always been like that.”

“And you loved me?” Lady Grantham asked.

“Not at first, my lady,” Sarah murmured. “But over the years, yes, I’d come to love you. That’s why I was so furious when I thought you’d send me away. That’s why I left. I couldn’t stand it any longer.”

Lady Grantham didn’t look horrified, much to Sarah’s surprise. She looked rather thoughtful, as if she was seeing Sarah in an entirely new way.

“Do you still feel that way?”

“Of course,” Sarah replied. “I didn’t stop, my lady; I just couldn’t stand it any longer, being here, serving you, and loving you, and you never knowing.”

“And me treating you like a servant.”

“Well, yes,” Sarah said. It was true, after all, and _she’d_  been the one to say it.

Lady Grantham reached out her hand and traced Sarah’s cheek, her touch taking Sarah by surprise. Her skin tingled along the path Lady Grantham’s fingers had followed.

“I need to accustom myself to this, Sarah,” she said, after a long moment, her hand resting against Sarah’s cheek. She seemed to have forgotten it was there. “I’m not saying I’m angry or anything at all. I’m not saying no. I’m just saying that this is different. And that I wish you would come back.”

Sarah reached up to cover her hand, to touch _her_ , in the first place, and to keep her hand against her cheek, in the second.

“I can’t come back as your lady’s maid, my lady. I couldn’t, you must understand.”

Lady Grantham closed her eyes, and her hand fell away from Sarah’s cheek. “You’re correct, of course. Of course you can’t.” She smiled, then. “But this is _my_ house, and you are _my_ guest. You are a guest in my house, and you may stay as long as you like.” She licked her lips. “You will stay, will you not?”

“I will stay the night,” Sarah agreed. “But I have been staying in London with my cousin, and I need to find a new position.”

“As lady’s maid?” Lady Grantham asked, and Sarah could see that she was already considering who among her acquaintances might be in need of a new lady’s maid.

“No, my lady,” she murmured. “As a seamstress. I always wanted my own shop, and between my cousin and me, I think we could manage one.”

Lady Grantham smiled. “A businesswoman,” she said, after a moment. “That suits you. But you’ll stay tonight, at least.”

“I’ll stay tonight, at least.”

“You should join me for breakfast,” Lady Grantham mused. “You know the way, after all. I’ll dismiss Baxter immediately. Come at half-nine.”

“I’d like that,” Sarah said with a smile.

“I should go,” Lady Grantham said, after a moment. “I’m glad you came to the ball, though I’ve know idea exactly how you managed it.”

“So am I,” Sarah replied. “I almost didn’t, but I’m happy I did.”

Lady Grantham reached up to her cheek again. There was an odd look on her face, as if she were contemplating something quite seriously. She leant towards Sarah and drew her closer at the same time until their lips just barely touched. Sarah’s eyes closed of their own accord when she felt the softness of Lady Grantham’s lips against her own, and the kiss was over entirely too soon.

“Oh,” sighed Lady Grantham.

Sarah smiled. “Thank you,” she said.

“Call me Cora,” Lady Grantham replied, before she stood. “Good night, Sarah,” she said, drawing her dressing gown around herself.

“Goodnight, Cora,” Sarah said, and in the brilliant smile that blossomed across Cora’s face, Sarah saw the promise of happiness in all the days that lay ahead of them.  


End file.
